


Infection

by Talinor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe- Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talinor/pseuds/Talinor
Summary: "Citizens are advised to stay inside at all costs until the infection is under control," Nyma's voice was slightly stronger when she spoke up again. "And if you come across a possibly infected individual, do not- I repeat, do  not-  come into contact with them. This infection is reported to be highly contagious. If you see someone you believe is infected, stay away and report them immediately. Officers will come to take them to the nearest vacant hospital as soon as they can. Please try to remain calm, and lock your doors."





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry
> 
> happy october/halloween!

This night was going to be absolutely perfect. Lance had the day off, and had spent the past two hours cleaning up the apartment for when his boyfriend Keith came home. The cream-colored floor tiles were so clean you could practically eat off of them.

Of course, they weren't actually going to eat off the floor. That would just be gross. Instead they were going to eat off the fancy china Keith's grandma gave to him. It was a special occasion, after all. Their two year anniversary. A private candlelit dinner with red wine and spaghetti- the works- was the least Lance could do as a 'thanks-for-putting-up-with-me-so-far' present.

The table was set, the golden glow of the lit candles reflecting nicely off the deep purple tablecloth. Everything was clean and in its place. The food was prepared and thankfully not burnt (burnt noodles tasted nasty- he knew from the time Keith tried cooking for him). All he needed now was Keith.

Lance checked the time. 6:30. Keith would be heading home from work by now. Any minute now, he'd shoot Lance his trademark 'coming home love you x' text. He did it nearly every day. A bit repetitive, but a comfortable kind of repetition. A reliable kind of repetition. He flopped down on the couch and reached for the TV remote. He had nearly half an hour to kill. He expected the phone in his pocket to vibrate any minute. No worries. He flipped the TV over to some obscure movie channel that was playing the Princess Bride. An oldie, but a goodie.

Fifty minutes later was when he started to worry. It was only a small nugget of worry, but it was enough. Immediately he tried to rationalize it away. Maybe Keith's phone died. Maybe Keith had been busy at the office and forgot to text him. Though either of those things rarely ever happened, those thoughts helped him calm down a little bit. It was perfectly explainable. Everything was fine.

That was when the movie was interrupted by a breaking news report. The red bar underneath the young blonde news reporter- Nyma Rogers, he remembered her name was- started showing sideways scrolling text as the report started. They said concerning facts like 'Staggering new infection quickly spreading' and '3 hospitals already full of infected individuals'. Lance furrowed his brows as he read the text, subconsciously leaning forward.

"Just this morning," Nyma began. "A man in downtown was taken into Mercy Hospital for a strange sickness." Her own expression was worried, fingers nervously tapping on the desk lightly. "Since then, nearly five hundred have come down with similar symptoms. Most cases have involved... boils on various parts of the body, violent coughing, increasing aggression, and," her expression shifted to one of both disgust and horror. "Bleeding from the mouth and/or the eyes." She let out a shaky breath, trying to regain her composure. "469 people have already died from the infection so far."

Oh God. Lance started to feel sick. The worried part of him was back with a fury. What if Keith was one of the infected? 

What if Keith was one of the dead?

"Citizens are advised to stay inside at all costs until the infection is under control," Nyma's voice was slightly stronger when she spoke up again. "And if you come across a possibly infected individual, do not- I repeat, do _not-_ come into contact with them. This infection is reported to be highly contagious. If you see someone you believe is infected, stay away and report them immediately. Officers will come to take them to the nearest vacant hospital as soon as they can. Please try to remain calm, and lock your doors."

A million thoughts raced through his mind like a furious bee swarm forced into one place. Where was Keith? Was he infected? Did he know what was going on? He should be back by now. Maybe his phone was dead and he was staying somewhere safe. He'd charge his phone, call Lance, and they'd meet up again after this weird sickness was under control.

Wishful thinking like that was the only thing keeping him sane right now. Where was Keith? Should he try to call him? He really needed to hear Keith's voice right now.

An urgent succession of knocks at the front door nearly made him jump. He got up quickly, racing to the door. He hoped, with every fiber of his being, that it was Keith (or at least Hunk and/or Pidge. Either of them could calm him down right now.) on the other side. He fumbled with the lock a bit, his hands moving as nervous and jittery as he felt right now. "Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Just open, you stupid motherfu-"

"Lance?" The breathy voice was music to his ears. Hearing it again flooded him with an overwhelming wave of relief. It really was Keith. Keith was alive. He really was okay. "Is that you?"

"I was just gonna say the same thing, babe," he said, still struggling with the stubborn lock. "Just-" he huffed out a breath. "Give me a sec." The lock usually stuck a little, but right now it seemed especially so. He could help but let out a triumphant whoop when it finally gave in with a click. Turning the brass knob, he opened the door.

Keith was a mess. His old crop leather jacket hung on his shoulders, pulled over him to hide his arms. The left sleeve had three long jagged lines through it, like a really persistent animal had clawed through it. A small, thin red line was right underneath his right eye. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed. His breathing was a bit heavy.

"What happened?" Lance asked, hurrying his boyfriend inside. Once he was inside, Lance quickly closed the door and locked it. "Are you okay?"

Keith nodded. "Yeah," he said, catching his breath. "Sorry it took me a while. Traffic was hell today." He looked at the table, then back to Lance with wide eyes. "Shit."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "What? Did you forget about today?"

"No," he said with a sigh. "I got you something, but I kinda left it in the car. And I... might have left the car back a couple miles ago."

"What?!" Lance exclaimed incredulously. The sleek red barely-used car was practically Keith's baby. He'd saved up almost an entire year just to buy it. He barely let Lance sit on the leather seats, let alone drive it. And Keith had just left it behind? Something bad must've happened to make him abandon his precious Red.

"I had to, okay? I was in a hurry!" Keith told him. It took him a second to calm down from his brief outburst. "I was too busy _running for my life_ to remember it."

That certainly got his attention. He studied his boyfriend with concern. Keith moved an arm to scratch at the back of his neck, and that's when Lance noticed why he had been hiding his arms. There was a bloody gash on his forearm, roughly the size of his fist. Lance had only gotten a brief look at it, but one look was certainly enough. 

"Keith," Lance said in a voice that sounded a lot calmer than he felt. He grabbed the arm gingerly, Keith stiffening like a deer in the headlights at the touch. He reluctantly let Lance move it so he could get a better look at the wound. It wasn't deep, but it was still bleeding an angry red. "Be honest. What happened?"

Keith sighed, tense shoulders deflating. "I was driving home," he said. "When I saw Rolo hunched over on the sidewalk. So I pulled over to see if I could help, and he... He attacked me. Clawed at me, bit off that chunk of my arm like some kinda animal and I panicked. I ran the rest of the way home. People were going wild in the streets, attacking other people and," he swallowed nervously, eyes glassy like he was reliving it. His next words were in a hoarse whisper. "I saw things out there I'm never going to be able to forget. And I just... kept running."

The two stood in silence for a long moment. Mainly cause Lance didn't know what to say. What should he say after some heavy stuff like that? 'That's rough, buddy?'

"Well," he finally decided on something safe to say, pressing his lips gently against Keith's sweaty forehead. "I'm just happy you made it home." He looked to the gash again. "Come on," he tilted his head towards the hallway. "Let's get you patched up."

Keith followed him to the hallway bathroom willingly. His free hand clutched the jacket like it was an old security blanket a child would hide from imaginary monsters. Except apparently the monsters he saw had been very real. But they couldn't get him here. Not if Lance had anything to say about it. He hoped he could show that by gently rubbing his thumb over Keith's knuckles. 

Keith shot him a small smile as he sat down on the closed toilet seat. Success. Lance pulled his hand away to look through the medicine cabinet. Keith just pressed his arms against his stomach like he had an ache. He barely noticed it at first- he was too busy looking for gauze for Keith's gash. He could've sworn there was a roll of it in there the other day.

There was a box of band-aids, at least. Those could work for the little cut below Keith's eye. He took one out of the small blue and white box and knelt down to Keith.

When he was positioning the band-aid underneath Keith's eye, he noticed something very concerning. Something that made him stop. Something that made his blood feel like ice.

Keith's eyes were extremely bloodshot now, mainly pink with a tiny ring of white around the iris. A tear streak of blood fell steadily out of his left eye, and one was visibly forming out of the edge of the other. He blinked once, and then his eyes widened in shock. Red was replacing the pink at the edges. He reached out and gripped Lance's arms desperately.

"Oh my god," he breathed out, his breaths getting erratic and heavy in panic. "Lance, I-I can't see. I can't see anythi-" he winced, doubling over and putting his forehead on Lance's shoulder. One hand moved to his mouth as a coughing fit wracked through his entire body. His breaths turned to ragged sobs. "It hurts s-so fucking much."

Lance just stayed there, frozen in shock. Blood from the eyes. Violent coughing. No. There was no way Keith was infected... right? He refused to believe it. Keith would be fine. He just needed time to recover. He'd be fine. Everything would be okay. Maybe if he thought it enough, he'd start to actually believe it.

He stood up, and Keith looked up in his general direction in fear. It felt strange to see his normally-calm and composed boyfriend so purely frazzled. It made him want- more than anything else- to take the pain away. To comfort Keith until he calmed down. But he doubted that was possible right now. 

"Lance, baby, _please,"_ Keith said desperately. It broke his heart to hear how vulnerable his voice was. "Please don't leave me alone right now. I need you."

"I know," Lance told him. "I won't be gone for long. I'm just gonna get some gauze from the other bathroom. I promise I'll be back before you can finish counting to twenty, okay?"

It took Keith a moment to nod, hands reluctantly letting go of him. "Okay." His arms move to hug his sides. "Love you."

Lance turned to look back at him from the doorway. Where did that come from? He was just gonna be gone for a minute at the most. Keith would be fine. ...Right? That nugget of worry gnawed at him again. He smiled half-heartedly. "Love you too, babe." With that, he headed out into the hallway.

He could hear Keith's shaky voice begin counting up as he headed to their shared bedroom. The voice was weakening, growing a bit quieter with every number spoken. Lance hurried to the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

He knew he should call the police. Maybe there was a hospital close by enough that they could get Keith there. Maybe the doctors there could manage to save him. But what if they couldn't? What if the cops couldn't get here in time, with all the chaos in the streets Keith described? He got so lost in thought it took him a minute to realize something.

Keith had stopped counting. He never heard twenty. Quickly, he grabbed the roll of gauze. He'd wrap up Keith's wounds and call the police. Everything would be fine. Hopefully. Lance hurried back to where he left Keith, fueled by that one optimistic thought.

As usual, life decided to be a major douche and prove him wrong.

Keith was lying slack against the toilet seat, head tilted back. He had actually put his jacket on while Lance was gone, the edges of the long sleeves now ripped off and jagged. His wide open eyes were fully red now. They were glued up to the ceiling (thankfully not literally), looking but not able to really see anything. Glassy and lifeless. He didn't move an inch, didn't breathe at all.

Without thinking, Lance ran. Ran out the hallway. Ran to the door. His heart hammered in his chest as he raced out of the apartment. Blood rushed in his ears, so loud he barely noticed the echoing sound of gunshots steadily growing louder. The city wasn't safe. He needed to go somewhere far away, somewhere safe.

Somewhere far away from the sight cementing itself in his memory.


	2. The Saints Can't Help Me Now (the ropes have been unbound)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should I be worried about the fact that this chapter was pretty fun?  
> ...probably.
> 
> this chapter gets kinda gorey by the end, so if that makes you uncomfortable, just skip over this chapter and go to the next one (when it comes out)

He used to be someone else. Vague, unimportant memories in his mind. They didn't really matter to him too much. Whoever he was, or had been, was gone. He knew that the moment he awoke again.

His body felt... new. Reinvigorated, like electricity surged through his veins instead of blood. His skin tingled as it got used to moving again. Instead of his weak, inefficient human nails, he now had claws just waiting to be tried out. He traced them on his skin lightly, feeling how easily they could tear through flesh. He'd try it out soon enough. A sharp pain and the gross sour taste of his own blood could be tasted on his tongue. He'd accidentally bitten it. Apparently his claws weren't the only thing that had grown sharper when he evolved.

His very being was thrumming with the want- no, want was too weak a word- he had an instinctual _need_ to try them out. To hunt. To see fear in his prey's eyes before their light faded. He had a hunger more intense than anything he had ever felt before.

He needed to rip, to tear flesh apart and feel the sticky crimson on his fingers. He needed to satisfy the raging beast urging him to go out and kill. He needed to sate his hunger.

He needed to hunt. Nothing else mattered over that.

He moved off the toilet seat, moving on all fours and feeling the cold tile underneath his fingers. His legs felt weak, but he grabbed for the smooth bathroom counter. It smelled heavily of cleaner. Like someone had took the time to scrub at it hours ago.

Another improvement- most of his senses were much stronger than they used to be. He could hear the static from the television in the living room and gunshots ringing from a few miles away. He could smell burning candles, and he could whiff the intoxicating scent of blood from outside the building. The iron taste was already on the tip of his tongue. All this at the loss of his sight. But with the senses he had left, he didn't really need it.

He pushed himself to his feet, his back still slightly hunched over. But it would work well enough. The hunter moved out to the hallway. The only use his human memories had at the moment was to help lead him out of the apartment. He had lived here for about six months, moving in with his boyfriend Lance. It had been a big step for the two of them, waking up next to each other every morning. A commitment that Keith had never made with anyone before. Lance was special to him like that.

Lance's scent- his cheap cologne and scented face mask- was barely noticeable. He must have ran away from here... five hours ago? Maybe six hours. Part of him hoped he was safe. He could probably still track him down, make sure he was alright.

But none of that mattered at the moment. He could find Lance later. Now, however, he had to find some prey. The biological urge drowned out any other desire.

He moved to the window, opening it and sticking his head out. He sniffed at the air, hoping to detect something living. There were apparently plenty of corpses along the streets, but he didn't need them. He needed a heartbeat under his fingertips, fresh and living blood to spill upon the pavement. He hoped for a challenge so he could have the satisfaction of taking it down.

Others like him shuffled along the streets below, searching for the same thing he was. 'Like him' meaning undead. He seriously doubted they could do the same things he could.

Maybe more leverage would help in the hunt. He knew the ledges of this building like the back of his hand, he could easily climb onto the roof. A small part of him had always wanted to try climbing up to the roof that way. But he had always dismissed it- it was a crazy idea, he'd think, there was probably a rule against it somewhere. He didn't really know if there was or not, but he didn't want to find out the hard way. But now he definitely knew something.

If there had been a rule, it didn't apply anymore. It wasn't like someone was going to tap him on the shoulder and tell him politely that what he was doing was against the rules, after all. If those below him had the same hunting urge he did, they wouldn't care.

One foot was already on the windowsill before he remembered something. His shoes would probably hinder his climbing. If he fell, it would be a long drop. A drop he might not be able to survive. Death wasn't appealing to him right now, not when he was feeling truly alive.

He stepped back to work on taking the shoes of, growling in irritation as it proved to be a bit more difficult than he thought it would be. Another small downside- something was wrong with his vocal cords. He could still make noise, like a rumbling growl or a grunt. But he couldn't speak. He tried to, he really did, but no words came out. Just animalistic noises.

No matter. Speaking was overrated anyways.

He felt a sense of triumph when he finally managed to take his shoes off, kicking them off without a care. He moved back to the window and perched on the windowsill, reaching up for a ledge. Something to grab onto.

Once he found one, climbing was easy enough. It was a little bit harrowing to climb high up without being able to see where he was going, but he wasn't afraid. He trusted his instincts completely. So he set his way up without the slightest hesitation. He reached the top of the building in no time.

A whiff of the air. Still nothing. Just the putrid smell of corpses and stale blood. He had to keep moving, find less populated hunting grounds. He could hear shuffling feet in the alleyway between the building he was on and the building across from it. The sound echoed faintly off the walls, barely noticeable. It wouldn't be noticeable at all if his sense of hearing had been the same as it used to be. The sound was loud enough to give the faintest echo off of the alley walls, but it was enough to show him how far away the next building was.

It would be far enough to give most humans pause. Only experienced people who had trained themselves for years could possibly hope to make a jump like this. But the hunter wasn't like most humans. He wasn't quite like the parkour artists either, but he had faith in his newfound abilities. So he perched on the edge of the roof, readying himself for the jump like a cat about to pounce. After taking a moment to ready himself, he made the leap.

He expected his arms to hit the building's ledge, where he'd have to pull himself up the rest of the way. But apparently he underestimated himself. Not only did he land on the other roof, he landed perfectly on his hands and feet. Guess that was just another perk of becoming a hunter. 

He continued on his way atop the buildings, alert for any telltale signs of prey. Anything ranging from a hushed voice to a gunshot, something along those lines. As long as he found something soon, he didn't really care much. But there was nothing. An eerie lull, void of any human life, hung in the air. Even the gunshots in the distance had stopped. The hunter briefly wondered what happened to the ones who had been firing. Did they escape? Did they find somewhere safe to hide? Did they die? Did they-

His mind snapped immediately back on track when he heard a door in one of the apartment buildings on the other side of the street slam shut. There was a scented trail he could barely smell from here. A smell that left the same iron taste in his mouth. Fresh blood.

So there was at least one injured human nearby, if not more. In a situation like this, most humans would try to find others. Flock to each other like penguins huddling close together for the sake of survival. So this injured person probably ran into a room with other people trying to escape the horde.

Good. The more the merrier. He knew he could take a couple of humans down.

The building he was perched on top of was at a corner, so there was probably a street light nearby he could jump onto. He could use it to slide down onto the street and track down his prey. The hunt was finally on.

He moved to the corner, gripping onto the ledge as he casually swung the rest of his body over the side. His feet rested steadily on the building's corner, ready to push off for the jump. He just needed to figure out where the street light was. So he did what he did to figure out his first jump- he listened.

The sounds of shuffling feet were too soft this time. They faded out before they were even close to reflecting off of anything. This area was much too open for that to work. So instead he decided to go by memory. Keith had driven past this corner many times on the way to the office. If the picture in his mind's eye was correct, then the street light would be... He moved his head an inch or so to the left. ...there. He let out a growl, waiting for the echo to ping back at him. Sure enough, it did. And he was apparently looking right at the street light. So, without hesitation, he jumped to it.

His claws scraped along the metal, emitting a high-pitched, kinda irritating sound. Not his stealthiest idea, but it had been his only option. Even with his new strength and improved jumping abilities, he doubted he could leap across the street. What he did got him to where he wanted to be safely and quickly, so that was good enough.

He walked along the street quickly, crawling over an abandoned car by the building. The sound had came from the third floor. It would be easier to just climb up there, so he could get to the human faster than the few infected walking over to the building in curiosity. The hunter perched on the hood of the car and pounced, hands outstretched for a ledge.

Thankfully he barely found one. He'd get up there in no time. 

The scent of blood got thicker the closer he got, making his mouth water with want. The smell led him on his way, luring him in with the promise of soon. Soon you shall feed. The closer he got, the easier he could hear. There was a muffled conversation going on in a third-floor room, urgent and hushed whispering back and forth.

"What are we going to do?" A familiar sounding voice asked. The hunter slowly opened the floor's hallway window. "We can't just stay here."

"I know, I just-" the other human let out a wince. He stepped into the building slowly, careful not to make a single noise. "We just need to figure out a plan right now."

"What you need right now is medical treatment," He stood up. "That bite looks nasty."

"I told you already, I'm fine." He moved cautiously to the door, the voices getting a bit clearer now.

"No, you're not 'fine!'" The voice hissed. "You're practically a fucking beacon to those things right now." They indeed were. The hunter had reached the door. It felt old, weak enough for someone like him to kick it down with ease. The room on the other side seemed pretty small. So he just had to kick the door down, kill the two humans before they could shoot him, and enjoy what he had earned.

"Language," the injured human whispered. He got himself ready. "And keep your voice down. We need to lie low, and keep-" They never got to finish that sentence. The hunter, fueled by the need, kicked the door down. It barely lasted for one, and fell off the hinges at two. The first target was closer to the door, making it infinitely easier for him to lunge on his prey. The unexpected weight made the human lose his balance, sending them both to the floor. The hunter knew that it was done by then.

He went into a blood-fueled frenzy, losing himself in the sensations he hadn't experienced until now. Claws didn't hesitate to tear through tender living flesh. When the human below him tried to scream, he didn't hesitate to sink his teeth into their throat. The human gasped, struggled weakly for a moment, and then went limp.

He indulged himself a bit more, tearing at the fabric of the recently-dead flesh as pure as a wedding dress. Though he seriously doubted it was that way now. The scent he had followed surrounded him now, and his own blood was singing that this was _perfect,_ this was _right,_ this was _everything he needed._ It was so wonderfully intoxicating and purely euphoric to rip at the skin with his claws and teeth. The flesh tasted better than anything he'd ever had, turning the raging monster in his mind into a content and purring housecat.

The hunter had been so wrapped up in his bloodlust, he'd completely forgotten about the other human probably staring at him in horror. He only stopped when he heard the voice speak, a shocked and hoarse whisper.

_"Keith?"_

He knew that voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this is most likely the worst this entire fic's gonna be
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr: squishy--squish
> 
> comments are always appreciated!


	3. We Are Alive (here in death valley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We catch up with Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Lance remembers the day they first met as like it had just happened. It had been so cliche, a scene right out of some rom com where the two main characters meet each other's gaze from across a crowded room. Which had actually happened.

Hunk and Pidge had taken him to the local bar that night to cheer him up after a breakup. Hunk, the sweetheart, paid for his drinks. Lance had tried to argue at first, but Hunk just shushed him. 

"It's the least I can do for you tonight," he'd said, clasping a conciliatory hand on Lance's shoulder. "I know how much Abby meant to you."

The two had only dated for about four months, but Lance was a lover. When he fell, he fell hard. So it always hurt when he crashed and burned. Each and every time, he'd get up and swear that he really learned his lesson. He'd swear his heart was locked away like gold in a treasure chest. And every time, he'd fall for a girl or a guy who seemed cool at first and made him fall head over heels for them. Then he'd find out they had fallen softer than he did. Or, in a few cases, didn't fall for him at all. Those always stung the most.

It was a vicious cycle. The only things that changed were the partner and the length of time it took for the wheel to spin to its destination. The destination was always where he had wound up that night, sitting at the bar miserably while his best friends tried to cheer him up. He was so tired of it. At that point in the cycle, he'd swear that he was going to be more careful next time. Then he'd have to say that he really meant it that time.

Lance looked over his shoulder to take a quick look at the people around him. And that's when he saw him. Keith, his long hair tied back in a small ponytail, sitting alone at a booth with a sketchpad on the table and a pencil he twirled in his fingers. He had looked up in contemplation and, like he felt eyes on him, looked in Lance's direction. The two stared at each other for a moment that felt like hours. And then It happened.

Keith gave him a small smile, and Lance had decided he wanted to see this mystery man smile some more. Mainly at him.

He had heard Pidge groan out, and he's pretty sure they had banged their head against the bar a couple times. Hunk tried to warn him against what he knew Lance would try to do. He had ignored them and headed to Keith's booth, sliding in to the leather seats.

"Hey," Keith had said, shifting slightly in his seat.

Oh God, Lance had thought, I'm already making him uncomfortable. He had to try and save this. "Hi," he'd said back. "Hope you don't mind the intrusion. I-I just wanted to say hi, so that's done. If you want me to leave, I can. I'll go. Just say the word. Or any word close to it, really."

Dear Lord, he had been rambling like a complete idiot. He always babbled when he got nervous. It was a terrible habit he really needed to shake. Of course, he didn't babble and go off track like that anymore. Well, he still kinda did, like when he-

Oh. Right. The story.

He still didn't understand why Keith didn't shoo him away right then and there. The past five years would probably have been completely different if Keith had actually told him to go. But Keith had just let out a short, breathy laugh. "No, it's fine," he'd said. "You can stay if you want. I'm okay with it."

"Okay, I understand," Lance had said, starting to get out of the seat. "I've been told I can be a bit annoying, so I-" That was the point where he finally realized what Keith had actually said. He'd stopped and looked to him in honest surprise. "...Really?"

Keith had shrugged. "Yeah, man." He went back to work on his design, drawing a line or two. Then he pulled back to look at the building design, hummed in discontent, and erased the lines he'd done. Then he tried again.

Lance let him work, not saying a word for several minutes as he watched. He wasn't an architect, but what he saw was pretty good. The lines needed to be a bit bolder to stand out among the light lines Keith had sketched and the ghost lines that still lingered after being erased. But Keith's hands were steady, his lines coming out smoothly. His eye for detail was amazing. But what had drawn Lance in (ha, unintentional pun) didn't have anything to do with what Keith was drawing. It was Keith's expression while he drew. Slightly furrowed eyebrows, lips pursed into a thin line, dark eyes filled with an intense determination. Like he had been in a staring contest with the pad below him. A staring contest he'd been determined to win.

It was both pretty cute and kinda hot. Just Lance's type.

But he was determined to take it slow this time. He was going to get to know this guy first before trying to take him out on a date. Befriend him first before he decided whether or not he wanted to be in a relationship with this person. Slow and steady. He looked over to Hunk and Pidge for support. Hunk gave him a supportive thumbs up. Pidge, on the other hand, just gestured to preoccupied Keith and shot him an expectant look like 'Well? Aren't you going to say something to him?'.

So he went with the first thing that popped in his head. Which actually didn't end up being too bad, actually. "So," he started. "Have you lived in the city long?"

Keith shook his head. "No," he confessed. "I kinda... moved here to be with my boyfriend." He said it casually, but had immediately studied Lance's face for his reaction.

Glass half empty- Cute Mystery Guy had a boyfriend already.

But Lance had always been a glass half full kinda guy, so he heard boyfriend and internally fist pumped. At least Lance had a shot. A small shot he wouldn't dare to take while Keith was in a committed relationship, but it was still a shot nonetheless.

"How long have you lived here?" He asked.

Keith thankfully had seemed satisfied by how casual he had been. "Just moved here last month."

"Well-" Lance was going to call him by his name, but then he had realized- he didn't know it. "...Sorry, should've asked this first, but what's your name?"

"Keith," He took a drink from his nearly empty glass. "Yours?"

"Lance," he'd shot Keith a smile. "Well, my friends and I," he'd gestured to Hunk and Pidge not-so-subtly keeping an eye on the two. "Know some pretty fun places 'round town. Maybe sometime we could show you around?"

Keith studied him with a hint of suspicion. But there was also some curiosity. He flipped to an unused paper in his drawing pad and tore off a small part of the corner. He'd covered Lance's view of what he was doing, like he couldn't guess that Keith was writing his number on the strip of paper. He'd only hoped that it wasn't a fake. Lance had wanted to know this guy more. Thankfully, Keith didn't scribble down a fake number or he wouldn't have been able to get to know one of the most important people in his life.

When he finished, Keith slid the slip of paper across the table to him. He gave Lance a small smile. "I'd like that."

And now, Lance was staring at the first text Keith had ever sent him morosely. It was a weird kind of torture, reading the long conversations they'd had over the three years they'd been friends and the two they'd been together. But occasionally he'd read a funny one, or remember the story behind one and smile. For a moment he forgot what had happened. For a second he would be tempted to text Keith and bring it up like 'hey, remember that time my little brother hijacked my phone and kept texting you weird shit?' or 'hey remember when i got handcuffed to a bike rack and had to text you to come free me?' Sometimes he would already be typing before he remembered. And then the empty feeling in his chest would come back and slap him with the metaphorical Your-Boyfriend-Is-Dead chair.

He didn't like the metaphorical Your-Boyfriend-Is-Dead chair.

It didn't help that cell service was down. He couldn't call his family, couldn't text his friends to see if they were okay. He didn't even know where anyone he knew was. For all he knew right now, Hunk and Pidge could be shambling around outside like the other infected. His big sister Josephine was his only family in town, so she might be among them. If this infection was only in their city.

At least he knew what happened to Keith. He saw it. And while he wished he hadn't, it was still better than this plaguing worry. He could sit here and hope with all his heart that his family and friends were all safe at an evac station. He could hope and imagine stepping out of the helicopter to see them there, anxiously waiting for him. Hunk would crush him in a hug, and Pidge would be next with something lighter. Josie wasn't the type for hugs, but she'd lightly punch his shoulder with a fond smile. And probably give him a noogie before slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him to where their family would be staying. He wished he could believe all that was possible.

But he saw the bodies in the street. He saw each face as a family or friend torn apart. What would make him so special that he didn't experience more than one loss? Why should he be so lucky?

He knew he shouldn't dwell on the past right now, but he couldn't help it. Fond memories spilled into his mind relentlessly. Turns out, Keith hadn't even had a boyfriend when they first met. The real reason Keith had moved to the city was because his grandmother's health was failing, but she absolutely refused to move into a retirement home. She was a stubborn woman who wanted to go in the comfort of her own home like a self-reliant adult. She hated feeling like she was fragile. When someone brought up her going to a senior home, Keith once told him, she cussed them out and 'banned them from her home forever'.

She would've gotten along with Lance's abuelita fantastically.

Keith was her only living relative, and she'd raised him most of his life, so he felt like the least he could do was return the favor. So Keith moved to a firm in the city, and got an apartment despite spending most of his time at his grandmother's. Taking care of another person was difficult and time-consuming, so Lance never offered any major trips. Usually they'd just hang out at the same bar where they'd met- Castle- with Pidge and Hunk. It was great, the three of them slowly getting to know Keith and vice versa. They'd had a lot of great times at that bar. He had to get used to how naturally affectionate Hunk was, but after he did, he'd smile and hug back. Apparently he was into conspiracy theories, so he and Pidge were fast friends after they found out about it.

Then, a year into becoming friends, Keith's grandmother died. He grew quieter at the table. Started to space out a lot. He'd smile and pretend everything was okay, but all three of them knew he wasn't really. Lance was the one who confronted it in the restroom after walking in on Keith wiping at his eyes in the mirror. Trying to look like he hadn't been crying alone in the bathroom. He'd looked to Lance with wide eyes, tinted pink at the edges.

The memory brought him back to what happened two days ago in their apartment. He sighed in frustration at himself, tilting his head back to hit the saferoom wall. The room grew darker when he turned his phone off, enveloping the empty space left behind by the light immediately. Two days. 48 hours, he'd been stuck in this bland little barricaded room with the only company being his phone (that he couldn't use much) and-

"Still can't sleep?" He heard Shiro ask.

Lance kicked the top of the sleeping bag off his legs. "Of course not," he said. "We haven't seen anyone for two whole days! How long are we gonna wait for your 'superiors'?"

Long story short- Lance had made it pretty far. He had ran out of the main part of the city, a couple of infected nipping at his heels. They might shamble around aimlessly when they don't have a target, but when they do? They turn into frickin' cheetahs. It was a wonder that Lance had lasted as long as he did.

Eventually, his chest felt like it was on fire. His legs were numb, and he knew that if he had stopped for a second they would've given out by that point. So he just kept running. That had been his legendary genius plan- run like hell and stay alive. It wasn't an original plan, but it was still pretty good.

And then he heard a metal door creak open, and a hand shot out to grab his hood. It pulled him in, and the person attached to that hand had quickly set to shut and re-barricade the mostly red door with faded white paint. Kinda like Keith's jacke- oh God why did he keep doing this to himself.

The first night in the saferoom, Lance thought he wouldn't get much sleep. Infected hit at the door and tried to fit their fingers through the little eye-level slot. But a lot had happened in those past couple of hours. He had been both physically and emotionally exhausted. His limbs ached like hell, and so did his heart. As soon as he got settled in to his sleeping bag, he had been out like a bad lightbulb.

He woke up the next morning very confused about why he was in a room with faded yellow wallpaper with lighter vertical lines down the sides. His bedroom had sky blue paint on the wall. The black sleeping bag around him was definitely less comfortable than the giant bed he shared with Keith in their apartment. It took him a minute to remember what had happened the night before. The anniversary dinner planned. The worry. Keith's infection.

Keith's dead body slumped against the toilet seat after Lance had left him. It was only for a short amount of time, but still. Keith had died while he was gone, alone and hurting and blind.

But he wasn't going to cry in front of the stranger that saved his ass.

Turns out, his name was Takashi Shirogane. A police officer about 4 years older than he was who had apparently been stationed here to collect any and all uninfected survivors he could save and wait for his superiors. They were supposed to give him the a-okay to bring the survivors to the nearest evac station- the roof of Altean Luxuries, namely. A nearly 30 story building that was once a 5 star. Over time, and many bad mistakes, it became a regular 3 star. Every day, Shiro had one hand by his walkie 'just in case'. Anxiously waiting for a sign.

There were two problems with this plan. Number one- Lance was the only other person in the saferoom. There was only one point the day before where they thought someone was heading their way. Then they tripped a car alarm somewhere farther down the street. With how many infected rushed them, and the sounds that made him sick after the alarm turned off, he knew they definitely didn't make it. So Shiro's superiors probably wouldn't be too happy.

If they were even still alive at this point. Problem number two- there had been nothing but radio silence for the past two days. Not even a peep from anyone else. Just the two huddled in one room with a couple sleeping bags, two pistols and a huge stack of protein bars on the counter, a giant pack of water bottles in the corner, and exactly 30 bullets for mentioned pistols. Lance had gotten bored that morning and counted them out. Shiro had a backpack- a 'survival pack', he called it- but he wouldn't let Lance know what was in there. Just held it close to him like it carried something precious (and fragile).

"They'll call in eventually," Shiro told him. The light from the street snuck into the saferoom through the slot, illuminating part of Shiro's face. From what Lance could see, he doubted his own words. The circles under his eyes showed countless nights without sleep, even before this shit went down. Shiro had taken watch the night before, and was still supposed to do so now. Lance didn't understand why. After all, it wasn't like any infected could knock down the door. They were strong and fast, but the saferoom door was sturdy. 

"When?" Lance asked. "When do you think they'll call in? Tomorrow? Sometime next week? Sometime next month?" The idea of him staying in this room for more than another day just made him more restless. He couldn't bear it. "'Cause I know you want them to, but I don't really think they're gonna call at all."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Shiro's voice was quiet. "I know that I'm probably waiting for something that'll never come. But what am I supposed to do?" He sighed, turning his head to look over at Lance on the other side of the room. "Tell you what. If nobody calls by tomorrow afternoon, we'll head over to Altean Luxuries and see if there's still an evac helicopter."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "What if there isn't?"

Shiro simply shrugged. "Then we'll find some other way out. But I promise," he turned deathly serious. "You will get out of this alive, no matter what."

That sounded... vaguely ominous. "What about you?" Lance asked, a small bit of worry flaring up again.

"My job is protecting people," Shiro told him. "At any cost, in desperate situations." He glanced to the door. "And I'd say this was a desperate situation." His eyes focused on Lance again, and he shot him a small smile. "But I won't try to do anything stupid and reckless either, so don't worry. Sound fair?"

Lance thought it over, pursing his lips in consideration. It wasn't like he had any other appealing options. He sure as hell didn't want to set out there by himself. It would help immensely to have someone else by his side. Especially if he knew that person wasn't going to leave him behind.

Finally, he made up his mind. He nodded.

"Good," Shiro said. "Try to get some sleep, then. We're gonna have a big day tomorrow either way."

Lance laid down in the sleeping bag. "Wake me up if someone calls in, okay?" He wanted to get out of this room as soon as possible.

"Don't worry," Shiro told him, picking up the walkie up from where it was. Which was on the floor right next to him. "I will."

The two stayed in silence after that. Lance stared up at the ceiling in an attempt to fall asleep. He listened to the faint sounds of the infected shuffling around outside, minding their own business. The fact that he would be out among them didn't really help him fall asleep. But eventually, after what felt like hours, he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on tumblr: squishy--squish


	4. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Lance see a familiar face.
> 
> At least, it's familiar to one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this Halloween chapter I literally finished just now!

Have you ever had a dream that you knew was a dream, but couldn't wake yourself up?

That was the kind of dream Lance had that night. The other nights, he was lucky enough to have fitful, but thankfully dreamless sleeps. Not this time, apparently. Life just really liked rubbing his guilt in his face.

He was alone at the beginning of the dream. No mention of what possibly happened to Shiro, just him racing up the steps to the evac station. No explanation whatsoever, just skipping right to the good part. His brain apparently wasn't very creative tonight.

When he got to the roof, there was only one other person there. The red light from the flare on the ground nearby illuminated the figure beautifully, a stark contrast against the deep blue of the sparkling night sky. The red light reflected well off the cropped leather jacket. That soft, familiar raven hair flew freely from the gusts of wind the whirling helicopter blades created. The same mullet Lance once made fun of. Strands of it flew into that familiar face when the man turned to look at him.

"Keith," Lance couldn't help but breathe out.

Keith's expression hardened. Thick eyebrows furrowed, parted lips turning into a frown. "Lance." He said harshly, like his name was an insult. He stepped down from the inside of the helicopter. He sneered, looking at Lance like he was dirt. "Of course _you_ would be here."

"What," he started. Honestly, he expected Dream Keith to run to him with a grin. Tell him about how much he'd missed him while clutching at the hood of his jacket. This definitely wasn't what he was expecting. It was a twist he wasn't really sure he liked. "What do you mean by that?"

Keith took another step towards him, arms crossed. "Don't you remember?" He asked. Three lines ripped themselves off of the left sleeve of Keith's jacket, which was now hanging off Keith's shoulder. A small cut appeared under one of the steely eyes glaring at him. He couldn't see it, but he could only guess the bite was back on Keith's arm. Exactly the way he looked that evening. "Does this jog your memory, love?" Another step. "Or maybe you need to see more. I don't think I'm getting through to you yet." Another step. The two were inches apart now. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch Keith.

But right now, with that glare pointed at him, he didn't want to. He wanted to wake up. He stepped backwards towards the doorway he came in from.

Keith stepped forward. The edges of his eyes were bloodshot.

Lance took another step back. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the pink overtaking Keith's eyes. He desperately wanted to, but he couldn't no matter how he tried. His eyes refused to close.

Keith followed him with that stony expression. A dark red streak lined down his left eye onto his cheek. There was barely any white in his eyes anymore. Just a swarm of pink and pure red tinges.

Lance hoped to step back through the doorway, maybe bolt down the stairs. He knew it probably wouldn't be that easy, but a naive part of him hoped that his mind was done tormenting him for the night. Maybe this nightmare would fade into comfortable blackness.

Instead, his back hit the wall. The doorway he came in from was gone. Of course it was.

When he looked at Keith again, he saw the pure red of his eyes. The irises stood out against the angry color. Red had always fit Keith- intensely loving, strong, determined, passionate Keith.

But not like this. _Never_ like this.

"Keith," his breath caught in his throat. The sleeves of the crop jacket tore themselves apart, edges jagged like an animal clawed at them. "Please, why- why are you doing this?"

His irises turned into a cloudy, milky white. Just like the infected. "You're not the one who deserves to ask why." Another step. Keith's pale skin was splotched with light gray patches. "I needed you. All I wanted you to do was stay with me, and what did you do?" Keith waited a moment, obviously looking for a response.

Lance couldn't speak. He wanted to, more than anything. He wanted to try and explain himself. But when he tried to talk, no words came out.

"You left me to die alone," Keith finally finished for him. Another step. His skin was more lifeless gray now, the color slowly taking over his skin. "Why? Did you want me to die like that? In pain, coughing like hell, just waiting for you to come back- did you think I _deserved_ to die that way?"

Lance shook his head rigorously. "Of course not!" He said, finally finding his voice. "I'd never wanted you to die, period! I-I just thought you'd be okay 'till I got back."

Keith didn't say anything else for the longest time, just stared at him with those lifeless eyes. Every silent second that passed made his skin crawl. He felt like he couldn't move, his limbs locked in place against his will. All he could do was look at Keith's unreadable expression and wonder what he was going to do.

Finally Keith chuckled, his lips turning up into a twisted smirk. The glint in his eyes was predatory. Like he wanted to tear Lance apart. Then he finally spoke up again with one simple word.

_"Liar."_ Keith surged forward, sharp teeth headed for his throat.

Just before they would've made contact, Lance woke up. He sat up immediately, accidentally knocking his and Shiro's heads in the process. He winced at the sudden pain, rubbing at his forehead. He cracked an eye open to see Shiro was doing the same.

He groaned. "Did someone call?" Shiro had been kneeling by his side, like he was just about to wake him up. _"Jesus,_ you have a hard skull." The last part was only muttered under his breath, the stinging pain just barely starting to ebb down.

Shiro shook his head. "No," he said. "You looked like you were having a bad dream. Thought I'd wake you up from it, but you did a pretty good job of that yourself." He put his hand down from his temple. "...I'm guessing 'Keith' is someone you lost? You kept muttering his name."

Lance felt his heart sink. Keith used to tease him about how he talked in his sleep. He nodded, keeping his eyes to the floor.

"Don't wanna talk about it?" Shiro asked.

He nodded again.

"Okay," Shiro stood up again. "Try to get some more rest. We're gonna have a big day tomorrow."

He didn't really wanna sleep yet. Not so soon after a dream like that, anyways. He put his back to the wall, looking over to the spot Shiro usually stood watch. The light streaming in through the saferoom door's illuminated his side, giving the holstered pistol at his side a yellow glint against the black metal. His deep blue uniform had a few small scratches strewn about.

"So," he finally decided to speak up. It was better than just staying in silence. (Silence only brought bittersweet memories and thoughts about You-Know-Who that he really didn't wanna deal with right now.) "What's your story?"

Shiro sat down, his back to the wall. He stared at Lance for a moment with an unreadable expression.

"What?" He asked. "It's an honest question." He shifted uncomfortably. That intense glare made him feel uncomfortable, like Shiro could see right through him. He didn't like that.

Finally the look softened. It morphed into understanding. "Well," he said with a sigh. "It all started in a hospital room December 9, 19-"

Lance rolled his eyes."Not what I meant, smartass." He tried (and failed) to hide his smile. Well, he thought, at least I'm not stuck with someone without a sense of humor.

"Language," Lance couldn't contain his snicker. Shiro apparently chose to ignore it. "And I'm guessing the story you want's about before all this happened?" Lance just nodded. "I was a transfer. Technically, I still am. I've only been here for about... five months or so. Nothing really huge or memorable had happened in that time."

"Until, like, two days ago?"

Shiro nodded. "I was driving back to the station with a dealer my partner, Morrison, and I caught," he continued. "When the radio," he held it up. "Started going crazy. Left and right, reports from all over the city. It was hard to focus on just one. There was a traffic jam, and Morrison..." He trailed off, his expression falling. It was pretty obvious what happened.

"Gotcha," Lance filled the silence for him. "You don't have to say it."

The two let the silence hang in the still air, the only sounds being the faint aimless shambling around of the infected. It only served as a friendly reminder of what they'd have to face tomorrow. Both of them subconsciously knew it.

With that cheerful thought, Lance shifted to lie back down to attempt to get some sleep. Tomorrow one of two things were going to happen- either he and/or Shiro would die trying to get to Altean Luxuries (which would majorly suck, cause Shiro seems like a nice guy) or at least one of them would make it to safety.

Unsurprisingly, it was pretty hard to fall asleep knowing you could die tomorrow. But somehow, he managed to do it.

There wasn't a memorable dream this time.

-

Apparently, there was a third possible option Lance hadn't thought of that played out.

It started with Shiro gently shaking his shoulder, rousing him awake. "Lance," his voice came more info focus. "Lance, wake up."

Lance sat up with a groan. "Did someone call?"

"Nope," he said, standing up. "But a deal's a deal. We're going today." Shiro offered him a pistol, the polished silver gleaming at him. He pulled it back a little when Lance reached for it. His expression turned dead serious. "...You do know how to shoot, right?"

"Yeah," he said. His mama used to take him to the local shooting range once or twice a week without fail, and he kept going pretty often after he moved out. It was a nice way to vent out his feelings. It helped sometimes to imagine the person he was pissed off at/really upset with was the target. But he wouldn't tell all that to a stranger he barely knew, let alone a police officer. "Don't worry." He decided to keep it at that.

Shiro looked at him suspiciously for a moment. He could practically see the wheels in his head turning, debating whether or not to give him the gun. Like Lance would shoot him with it and leave himself with the horde he attracted with the ringing gunshot. It didn't take a rocket scientist to determine why that would be a stupid decision.

Or maybe he thought Lance would fumble with the gun and accidentally set it off. Like he didn't know how safety worked. Guess a small part of him could see where the guy was coming from, but still. It'd be nice to have a little bit of faith.

Finally Shiro seemed to come to a decision. He relaxed slightly, and handed Lance the gun. It was cool to the touch, new and in tip-top shape.

...Just to be safe, he clicked the safety on. 

He shuffled out of the sleeping bag. This really was it. They were finally done with waiting around, cowering in a little safe room. In about a minute or so, they were going to go out into the streets. 

...Where they were horrendously outnumbered. Option 1 sounded pretty realistic at that moment. Odds weren't really in their favor.

Shiro extended his prosthetic hand towards him. It was just a nice gesture, but Lance saw it as more than that. He saw it as his last chance to back out of this. If he took that hand, they'd go out into the alleyways to get to a hotel that was about a mile or so away. Countless infected could be waiting for them in that mile.

But it was his only chance to see his family again. To get to safety. (At least, if he died, he might be able to see Keith again.)

He took the hand. Shiro pulled him up to his feet easily.

"You ready for this?" He asked.

"Yeah," Lance barely hesitated this time. He truly meant it. "I'm good. What's the plan?" Did they even have a plan?

"Kinda," he confessed, adjusting a strap on his backpack. "It mostly just involves not dying and not shooting unless absolutely necessary."

"That's a start," he wracked his mind. What did he know about this area? Lots of old apartments... Old apartments. Most of them still had fire escapes. They were rickety and rusted, but they were a better option than being backed into a corner with a horde. "It sounds good to me." He took a few steps toward the door and looked back to Shiro. "You ready to get the hell outta here?"

He shrugged, headed to the door. "Ready as I'll ever be," he barely heard the muttered words as Shiro squinted a bit to see through the slot. He scanned out the alleyway, mouth a thin hard line as he checked for signs of movement as far as the little slot would allow. Finally he let out a small sigh of relief, tension loosening slightly in his shoulders. He looked back to Lance. "The alley's clear," one hand was on the steel bar barricading them from the rest of the world. "Let's go while that's still true."

"I'm right behind you," he said as casually as he could despite the fact that it felt like his heart was pounding in his ears. He was trying his best to pump himself up, look at things optimistically. Like most kids, he's played video games like this. Set in a zombie apocalypse where it was just you versus the bloodthirsty horde.

It felt much different in reality. It felt like his pulse was roaring loud enough for the horde to hear. His heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. Even when he put the pistol in his jacket pocket, he still kept one hand close to it. Anxiety rested heavily on his entire being. Especially because he knew at least one face out in that horde somewhere. He only hoped he wouldn't have to see that face.

Cautiously, Shiro flipped the bar up to let them pass. He shot a nervous smile back to Lance before nudging the door open with his shoulder. He cracked it open just enough so he could poke his head out to fully check the alleyway. After a moment, he nodded and slipped out of the room. Lance followed closely behind him out into the alleyways.

Turns out, it was much different planning to go out than actually doing it. Actually going out only made his overwhelming nerves much, much worse. For a split second, he seriously considered going back into the saferoom. Letting Shiro take his chances. But then he remembered how stupidly selfish that idea was and quickly kicked it out of his mind.

Instead, Lance placed his hand against the cool metal of the door and shut it as gently as he could manage.

It started out well enough. The two didn't run into any infected for a while, both being sure to move carefully and quietly so it could stay that way. The alleys reeked, and there were plenty of bullet holes and stains on the old bricks. He didn't bother to wonder just why. He'd have time to reflect later, when he was safe- probably when night fell and he was trying to get some sleep. If he lived that long, of course.

There were a couple times Shiro held him back to wait for some infected to shuffle out of their path. One time it felt like they were crouching behind a dumpster for nearly half an hour. By the time their way was finally clear, it felt like his legs were on fire. But they were still alive, so he guessed he couldn't really complain that much.

Finally, they got to Altean Luxuries.

It was- unsurprisingly- a pretty tall building. Tall enough that he couldn't really see the top of the old white hotel. He could see wisps of smoke from a flare reaching out to the sky, white contrasting against the slowly darkening clear blue. Not to mention the sound of helicopter blades spinning coming from the roof. So those were good signs.

Chain link fences circled the perimeter, about 15 feet or so. A couple signs hung on the fence facing them, saying helpful things like 'DCA-issued private property', 'trespassers will be shot on sight' and 'evacuation' with an arrow pointing straight up. Inside the fence perimeter, two parallel lines of square teal tents facing each other led all the way down, past the bronze lion statue that once glittered but now just looked drab and dreary, to the doors. The blue lights on the rusted old cursive sign still glowed faintly. That was a good sign.

The limp corpses he could see wrapped up with red splatters against the white fabric inside some of the tents, however, was not. Neither was the fact that nobody living was out. Not that they could spot, at least.

The two exchanged a look.

There wasn't an opening in the fence. Or, at least, one they could use. It was chained shut, and he couldn't see the lock.

"...You do know how to climb a fence, right?" Shiro was the first to speak up, words hushed just in case.

Lance just... stared at him for a moment. He had to wrap his head around this. "Are you, a _cop,"_ he said after he got his tongue to work. "Suggesting we break the law?" He clutched his chest with an exaggerated gasp. "It's a sign." His other hand went against his forehead. "The apocalypse truly is among us."

Shiro let out a breathy laugh. It was nice to joke around with someone. All this seriousness was just putting him down. "What," he spoke up, normally-troubled gray eyes twinkling. (Somehow after a couple of days his eyeliner was still smooth- after they were safe, he was seriously gonna ask what he used. That stuff had to be magic or something.) "Did the zombies walking around somehow not tip you off?"

"...Fair enough," Lance relented, putting his hands down. "Seriously, though? I haven't really gotten an excuse to climb a fence before." Part of him was giddy at the idea he'd finally get the chance to. "Guess the kinda end of the world really does bring opportunity, huh?"

"Guess so," Shiro said. He stayed quiet for a moment, looking up at the top of the building. "Come on," Finally, he moved right next to the fence, bending down a little with hands intertwined. "I'll hoist you up."

A little part of him wanted to argue that he could do it himself, thank you very much. But they probably didn't have time for that. Plus, he'd probably mess up and look stupid. So Lance just did as he was told, fingers gripping the thin metal. His right foot went onto Shiro's hands.

Either he really didn't weigh much, or Shiro was pretty damn strong, because he was nearly lifted all the way to the top with only a slight huff from Shiro. Maybe it was both.

Yeah, probably both.

Anyways, Lance didn't have to climb very far. His left foot slipped trying to find footing when he was lifted, but other than that he didn't do anything embarrassing. It was kinda weird trying to swing his legs over the bar at the top, but he managed. He only climbed down a little bit on the other side before letting himself drop the rest of the way.

It took Shiro less than half of the time it took Lance to get to the other side of the fence. Not that he cared enough to notice.

His heart steadily grew faster with each step they took. It smelled disgusting. The only other sound besides his heartbeat and their shoes against the concrete was the buzzing of flies. At first, he made the mistake of looking into the tents. Some had cots with bodies on them hooked up to deactivated or broken heart monitors. Most were covered with a white sheet. But some weren't.

The one that really got to him was a young boy, about 11 or 12, mostly covered by a sheet. His head was the only thing sticking out, positioned just right to make it look like he was looking right at Lance. His eyes were glassy and lifeless, and Lance couldn't help but notice two things about the little kid.

1- He had a striking resemblance to Luis, Lance's little brother. They looked about the same age, had the same unkempt dark curls. If he didn't know Luis was in Arizona with the rest of his family and that he had a scar on his lip from when he tried to eat a stapler that this kid didn't have, he could swear it was actually him. That thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

And 2- he had a dark red bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

He quickly averted his eyes to avoid actually throwing up. He really didn't want to move his eyes up the rest of the time they walked along the tents.

The sooner they got out of this hell, the better.

(The next time he saw him- he internally swears- he's gonna hug Luis.)

He only looked up from the floor when he heard the doors whirr open for them. It gave them a view of the rundown lobby. Unsurprisingly, no one else was there. Most of it looked untouched, like nothing had ever happened. Like things hadn't gone to shit. There were no blood stains, no bullet holes, nothing to show that there was anything seriously wrong (except for the lack of people).

Nothing except the blue signs nailed along the white walls, simple arrows pointing in the direction of the evac station. Up at the top of the building. 30 flights of stairs were the only thing standing between the two of them and safety.

Hopefully.

Despite the fact that he'd probably be pretty winded by the time they got to the roof, it seemed too... simple. Both too easy to mess up and just too easy in general. He only hoped it would stay that way. Both of them could use an easy evac.

Of course, life wanted to show him how much it hated him.

The first 10 flights went off without a hitch. Bare old lightbulbs hooked into the walls lit the way, illuminating all the cracks and chicken-scratch pencil doodles on the walls. They hadn't heard any signs of infected possibly waiting for them. The two mainly kept quiet just in case. The only sounds that filled the air were their steps against the stairs.

And then they ran into a blockade.

It wasn't a traditional one, but it was still effective- a bunch of chairs and couches stacked on top of each other bracing against a huge stack of mattresses high enough to block them from even seeing the stairs. Not a good sign. Definitely not a good sign. The only option they had other than going back down the stairs in resignation was a plain blue door next to Shiro that led to the floor.

They looked at each other.

"Great," Lance let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. There'd been a couple annoying strands in his face. "What should we do now?"

Shiro looked contemplative for a moment, gaze flickering between the blockade and the door. He reached for the handle and opened it a crack. Lance saw his eyes widen slightly when he peered through. Shiro closed the door and looked back to him.

"How many?" Lance asked.

"I could only see a couple in the hallway," he replied. "But a lot of doors are busted in, so there's probably more."

Wonderful. Just fan-fucking-tastic.

"You know," Lance licked his dry lips. "There's probably a stairwell on the other side, maybe an elevator." Probably blockaded too, but maybe (just maybe) it was a blockade they could climb over. There had to be some way to get to the top of the building. "We could just run for it."

Shiro seemed to mull that over. He looked hesitant to do it, but his prosthetic hand was still on the door handle. The other was by his holster.

"Okay," Shiro finally spoke up again after a moment. "On 3, I'm gonna open the door, okay?" His hands moved to roll his shirt sleeves down. They covered his arms fully, only leaving his hands uncovered. (Maybe a bite wouldn't go through the fabric? He quickly put on his own jacket from where it'd been tied around his waist.) "Stay close."

Lance nodded. "Ready when you are, man."

Shiro flipped the strap holding his gun in the holster open, his prosthetic hand going back to grip the door handle. "1..." He barely heard the number uttered under the other's breath. "2..." His hand tightened his grip on his own gun. He really hoped he wouldn't have to use it. "3."

Immediately after Shiro said the number, he pushed the door open and was off like a bullet. Lance followed quickly after him. He didn't really know how many infected were going to chase after them. He didn't really want to know. As they ran, he didn't bother to look back and check.

He tried not to focus on his surroundings. On the stains on the walls. On the scrawled messages written. He just kept his focus on Shiro. On the idea of possible safety nearby. That idea kept him going, powered him up enough to keep running for his life despite the fact that it felt like his already-sore legs were screaming.

And then he saw the blockade of chairs and couches cutting them off from the rest of the hallway just a few feet away from the stairway door. Judging by the rapid footsteps on the navy blue carpet behind them, they didn't really have time to try and crawl over it. Instead, he tried something else.

He grabbed Shiro's wrist and opened one of the double doors next to them. Quickly, he pulled him inside the room and shut the door. Though it wouldn't really be much help, he locked it behind them.

When he turned around, he saw a dark-skinned woman with a fire axe a couple inches away turn to the doorway. For a split second, she was tense, her weapon ready to swing at him. He flinched at the sight, putting his hands up. He was about to say something, try to talk the beautiful hopefully-not-axe-murderer down.

Then recognition flared up in her crystal blue eyes, and her shoulders loosened. She put the axe down and stared at Shiro in disbelief.

"Takashi?" She said. Axe lady had a British accent. Huh.

He looked at Shiro to see the same expression on his face. "Allura?" The name was breathy, probably because of the mix of shock and running. "What are you doing here?"

The silvery white-haired woman, Allura, opened her mouth to speak. Before she could even get a syllable out, a series of pounds against the doors started. It moved slightly with every fist that hit it, but it still held. For now. Frankly, he did not want to wait and see how long that would last.

So instead, he spoke up. "Listen, it's great that you two know each other somehow. But can the explanations wait 'till we're- oh, I dunno- _not_ being chased by zombies?"

Allura finally looked over to him. She was a very attractive woman- about Shiro's height, hair pulled up into a messy bun, with a nearly stainless white lab coat (there was only one red spot near the hem) contrasting against her turquoise tank top (that matched her flats) and cream colored pinstripe pants. A white book bag was slung on her side. She looked like just the type of woman Lance would've probably flirted with at a bar.

But considering the fact that she nearly tried to kill him a couple seconds ago (and his boyfriend died three days ago), he wasn't really in the mood to even try. Right now, he was tired and scared and just wanted to get out of this hellhole.

"Right," Shiro said. "I'm guessing you're headed to the roof?"

Allura nodded. "I just needed to get some of my things first," She put a hand on her bag, the other still gripping her axe. "Come on. We need to move." She gestured toward her as she started to move to the other side of the room.

It looked like a meeting room of some kind, with a long smooth oak table in the middle of it circled by chairs. At the head, a graph showing a map of America above DCA logo stood. The states were mostly colored red, with a few blue patches littered among them. Arizona was half blue.

He didn't have much time to reflect on what that meant. The door was splintering.

So instead, he followed Allura and Shiro to identical double doors on the other side of the room on the same wall. And, as luck would have it, they were also on the other side of the blockade as well. Allura opened the door just as the others finally gave way. She wasted no time getting to the steel stairwell door, Shiro close behind. Lance was last, and shut the doors behind them to buy a little extra time.

At first, he didn't realize just how many flights they climbed. His mind was on autopilot, pushing down the soreness in his legs and his quickening breath to focus on only one thing- getting as far above the loud banging against metal as he possibly could. It echoed through the close walls of the stairway, egging them on to go faster.

It was only when he was leaning against the railing for support did he look to see what flight number they were on. 25. 5 more to go. His lungs felt like they were on fire.

"Who the hell," he said breathlessly, not even realizing he was actually speaking at first. "Puts an evac station," Shiro stopped to wait for him. Allura slowed down to a stop on flight 26. "Up 30 flights of _goddamn stairs?"_

"Come on, Lance," Shiro said, slinging Lance's arm over his shoulders. "Maybe the helicopter," At least he sounded a bit winded too. He used Shiro as support as they caught up to Allura. "Maybe it has a luxury spa?"

Allura finally went ahead when they were only a couple steps behind. She let out a breathy laugh, and he's pretty sure he saw her smile. "If it's this place's definition of 'luxury', I'd skip out on it if I were you."

"You're right," he agreed. They stepped onto 27 together. 3 more to go. "Maybe they'll have a better one wherever we're going."

"I'll be sure to ask 'em." Lance said. 2 more. The pounds on the stairwell door lessened. Guess the infected finally got bored of trying to break through.

1 more to go. His heart was soaring at the thought that they were finally getting out of here. They were finally going to safety. And maybe, just maybe, his family would be wherever they were going. It wasn't too likely, but it was still just enough to fuel him up the final flight. Allura opened the door for them, and his breath caught in his throat.

There wasn't a helicopter waiting for them on the roof. A red flare lay only a foot or so away, and a folded up paper Allura picked up. Those were the only things there. 

Even worse, he could still see a lone chopper flying off toward the setting sun. They were too late.

His heart fell back down to earth quickly.

"This isn't happening," he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't happening." Maybe if he said it enough, it would become true. He'd wake up and realize this entire thing was just a fever dream. "This isn't happening." His chest felt tight, rising and falling much quicker than usual. There weren't any walls around him, but he could still feel some pressing down on him. Crushing him slowly and surely until he felt like curling into a ball.

"Lance," Shiro's calm voice snapped him out of it. "Calm down. Breathe. This is just a little roadblock. You're gonna be okay, but first you need to calm down. In," he followed the instruction, inhaling as best as he could. "And out." It all came out at once, ragged and rushed. "That's a start, but try going slower this time."

He did as he was told once. Then twice. Then a third time. He kept going, guided by Shiro's gentle voice and small praises, until he finally calmed down.

"Feeling better?" Shiro asked, helping him up onto his feet. He hadn't even realized he fell to his knees.

"Yeah, thanks." He said with a slight nod. "Sorry for freaking out, I just..." He sighed. "I just thought we were gonna get evacuated outta here today."

"We still can," Allura finally spoke up, looking up from what looked like a map of the city. "There's another evac station nearby." She showed them the map, pointing to a spot Lance knew pretty well- the Garrison County Mall. "If we go in a couple of minutes, we could get there just as it gets dark."

Lance considered it for a moment before nodding. "Sounds like a plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (next chapter, we're going to see 2 familiar faces, so look forward to that)  
> Come yell at me on tumblr: squishy--squish  
> comments are always appreciated!


	5. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two others join the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing long chapters for this fic is pretty fun tbh  
> enjoy!

Finally, the events of the day caught up with him. He had barely eaten anything all day. He hadn't really had a chance to.

Do you know how stressful it is trying to quietly unwrap a protein bar so the zombies didn't find you hiding behind a dumpster?

It's extremely stressful, thank you very much.

Not to mention he was exhausted. Running and crouching and climbing up 30 flights of stairs in the span of just a couple of hours really took a toll. Lance guessed that he wasn't built for all that stuff before he did it, but now he knew it with certainty. He could've lived out the rest of his life without knowing that for sure, but that kinda stuff was the unsung charm of the apocalypse. If you could even bother calling it 'charm'.

So it was pretty understandable when the first thing he did when provided with a small break was land straight on his ass. He moved to rest his back against the wall with a sigh, allowing himself to shut his eyes a moment.

A shuffling noise and the quick zipping sound made him crack one eye open slightly. Shiro stood next to him, rummaging through the backpack in front of the man now. After a moment, he apparently found what he was looking for and took it out. Another protein bar, with a bright yellow wrapper that was just obnoxious to look at for too long. The bar's taste wasn't much better. Shiro looked to him expectantly, tilting the bar towards him.

"No thanks," he said. He wasn't really sure why, but he wasn't really up to eating at the moment. Maybe because if something was actually in his system, it probably wouldn't stay for very long. "I'm good."

Yet Shiro didn't move his hand. "You've barely eaten anything all day," he chided. "I know you don't like these bars, but you need the energy. So eat." It was pretty clear he wasn't going to back down from this. And Lance was a bit hungry.

So with a sigh, he took it.

He could still hear Shiro zipping up the pack, followed by the shuffling as he put it back where it was over the crinkling of the wrapper. He worked on getting it off completely before bothering to take a bite. Like the first, it tasted bland and dry. Not bad enough to make him want to gag, but not good enough to make him want to eat more. But he glanced over to see Shiro watching him sternly with his arms crossed, so he rolled his eyes, sucked it up, and took another bite. And another. And another until he finished the boring bar.

But at least he had something in his system now.

"Takashi," Allura finally spoke up again, turning to look at them instead of the horizon. The golden glow of the sunset illuminated her hair beautifully, contrasting and blending with the white strands hanging free from the bun. It was a weird aesthetic, but honestly weird in a good way. "Do you have water in there?"

Shiro nodded, reaching back into his backpack. He rummaged through it for a moment, prosthetic hand searching through crinkling unopened wrappers before finally finding what he was looking for. He pulled a water bottle out and held it out as the other repositioned the backpack so he could zip it closed.

Allura took the few steps toward him, taking the bottle. "Thank you," she said with a smile. 

She uncapped the bottle, put it up to her lips, and took a pretty sizable gulp. Then she twisted the cap back on, opened the flap to her own bag, and put the bottle in alongside... whatever she had in there. He couldn't really see from where he was.

"So," she spoke up again when she closed her bag and fastened it once more. One hand gripped the handle of her axe. "We should get going."

He groaned, going limp against the stable wall. Even thinking about getting up and walking made his jelly legs want to cry.

"She's right, Lance," he heard Shiro say. "We should try getting to the mall ASAP."

They were both right. He knew that. He knew they needed to head out now if they wanted to get there before the sun fully set. And he knew he didn't want to test if the zombies were somehow worse at night.

He knew all these things, and yet didn't make a single move to get up.

He was physically and emotionally exhausted. Part of him wanted to just curl up into a ball and pretend nothing was happening. Like none of this was actually real. Like if he tried hard enough and wanted it enough, all of this would just... go away. He'd wake up at home with Keith cradling him in his arms.

Keith always was a clingy sleeper.

The thought only struck a red hot pang of pain in his heart.

If there was anything else he knew for certain, it was that this was unfortunately real. Keith really had died alone and in pain. Lance really had run out their apartment into a zombie infested city. The past three days had certainly, actually happened. Now they needed to head out back into hell. He knew all about that. 

He also knew no amount of hoping and wishing or moping and groaning would fix or change that somehow.

So Lance let out a tired sigh and pushed himself up onto his weary feet. They ached like hell, the nerves practically kicking and screaming for more rest. But he sure as hell didn't want to spend the night on the roof of some shitty hotel. 

And if traveling around a little bit more meant he'd finally get to safety, then so be it.

"So, uh," he said, heading back through the doorway first this time. "How are we going to get back down?"

Allura's voice piped up behind him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, heading down the first flight. "Number 11's blocked off, and I betcha 10 bucks the other floors are infested too."

He heard her steps come to a quick halt. "...You two walked the entire way up the stairs?"

"Let me guess," Shiro inputted from the back of their little single file line. "There's an elevator?"

Lance looked back at the two just in time to see Allura's expression of disbelief. "Of course there is," she said. "For Christ's sake, this building's not that old! It goes all the way up from the lobby to floor 30."

They could've just taken an elevator up instead of going up 30 flights of stairs. There was a fucking elevator in the lobby they somehow didn't see. They did all that for no reason.

Maybe it was cause of the kind of day this one had been, but Lance actually felt tears well up in his eyes. He quickly wiped them away before the others could notice. Right now was not the time to have a second mini-meltdown. One was enough, even for a shitshow like today.

Lance stopped at the top floor's metal door. He pushed it open slightly, allowing himself a small crack to peer through.

This floor, unsurprisingly, looked like the others. Navy blue carpet with a few questionable stains on it, white walls with paint peeling off at the top. A few dots he could only guess were bullet holes littered the wall like wild stars in a reverse-colored sky. He cracked the door open a little bit more, and saw a stumbling little figure further down the hall.

They didn't look young enough to be a kid, but not old enough to be an adult. A short teenager, then. They wore a white buttoned-up shirt and black dress pants, both articles of clothing stained liberally with dark red. Their graying hands clutched their left side, where the source of red seemed to be.

Lance shut the door quietly and looked back to the two waiting behind him. They looked at him expectantly, and he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"You guys owe me 10 bucks."

"How many?" Shiro asked. He saw Allura's grip on her axe tighten.

"I only saw one that looks... kinda injured, but there could be more." Another little 'perk' of the apocalypse, told by any #edgy dark zombie media, There could always be more hiding in wait for their next meal to walk past them.

Allura took a step toward him, her weapon at the ready. Her crystal blue eyes were steely. "I'll go in first, then." With the way she looked right now, determined to carve through a horde if necessary (he hoped it wouldn't be), he didn't really want to argue with her. "Follow me."

He gave her a fake salute. "Yes ma'am," he said, pushing and holding the door open for her. 

She only gave him a curt nod before walking into the devastated hall, Shiro shooting him a questioning look. It took a brief moment of his eyes flickering back and forth between him and Allura to get what he was trying to nonverbally ask. He was asking if Lance wanted to go second instead of last. It would've been better if Shiro had just actually asked instead of letting Lance try to figure out by his little hint, but whatever.

Honestly, being in the middle didn't sound so bad. He wouldn't have to worry about a zombie getting him from up front; Allura looked pretty strong. And he wouldn't have to worry about one sneaking up behind him (could zombies even sneak? He didn't wanna find that out the hard way.) 'cause Shiro would have his back.

So he nodded and moved ahead to Allura, Shiro close behind him. He heard the door close behind them as he caught up to the woman in front. She walked like someone on a mission, like she could (and would) crush anyone who tried to get in her way under her heel like a bug.

He didn't feel as confident as she was, but he could certainly pretend to be. He kept one hand on his gun just in case.

The injured zombie turned to look at them with milky white eyes, their pupils the size of a period on a Microsoft Word document. Messy black bangs covered their forehead, and the sight only reminded him of a picture He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named once showed Lance of Not-Voldemort-But-Has-The-Same-Title as a teenager, before he grew it out a bit more so it didn't look like a mullet. This zombie's hair was a bit shorter, but other than that, it was the same.

The zombie reached for them weakly with a half-hearted growl. They shambled a few steps over to Allura, right in front of another hall branching out with more rooms. They looked barely weak enough to stand, legs shaking and body shifting idly as they uselessly pawed at the woman in front of them for a split second.

Allura didn't hesitate to slam the butt of her axe's handle in their gut. They crumpled to the floor, doubling over and making a pitiful gurgling noise. Lance moved to take the pistol out of his jacket. Give the thing a quick death. Mainly cause he felt a bit bad for it- them? (Did it really matter what pronouns he used for zombies?)

Then Allura raised a flat hand in his direction as a stop gesture. "Don't," he barely heard her deathly-serious whisper. The hand moved to point down the branching hallway. His eyes followed in that direction to see what had her tensing up.

_Sweet Jesus._

The hallway was way too cluttered for his liking. And not 'cluttered' as in 'more furniture lying around haphazardly'. 'Cluttered' as in 'way too many zombies for him to be comfortable with'. Which would've been zero zombies four days ago, but since then he'd been forced to lower his standards quite a bit.

That alone would've been bad enough. But there was one more thing- the cherry on top of the shit-cake. 

He could see the silvery doors of the elevator over the heads of the sea of zombies. They were so close, and yet so far. All they had to do to get to safety was get through without getting killed.

...Somehow. He was still working on that part of the plan.

Sure, they could always go back down the stairs. Technically speaking, that was the safest option they had at the moment. But unless Shiro or Allura were willing to carry him down the last few flights, he doubted his legs would hold through it. And he doesn't really wanna ask.

"How do you wanna do this?" He heard Shiro ask in a hushed whisper.

He saw Allura look to the two of them, then back to the horde that somehow hadn't noticed them yet. She furrowed her brows, lips pursed in consideration. She seemed to be weighing her options.

He looked to the other side of him to see Shiro making close to the same expression. The two looked at each other and, after a moment, nodded at the same time.

They didn't give Lance much time to think about what that meant. Instead, they showed him. By running towards the horde together, leaving him little to no choice but to follow reluctantly. He didn't want to be stuck on the other side.

Shiro ran he wanted to get out as fast as he possibly could, pushing and shoving and shouldering his way through the crowd. It seemed crazy. He was putting himself easily at risk. One unlucky stumble, one untimely fall, and they might not be able to save him in time. 

But somehow, it worked. He actually made it through safely, rapidly pressing the button once he got there and kicking away any infected that got too close.

The main reason for that was most likely Allura. She was right by his side the whole time, butting away and even slicing into any zombies in her way. And, a couple times, ones in Shiro's. Unsurprisingly, she got through safely as well. Her bun was mostly undone now, and more red stained both her lab coat and the blade of her axe.

Lance wasn't too far behind. It wasn't really too hard to catch up to the two cutting a path, though he had to take a few out of his way. Mainly pushing them down, possibly stomping on them to buy a bit of time. It went without incident.

...Well, mostly without incident. Like 99.99999 percent without incident. What happened had been that small. 

And yet it still made his heart run a marathon when he felt a zombie's hand grab onto the fabric of his left jacket sleeve, heard the tearing sound rip through the air. In a panic, he clicked the safety off his pistol and, without a second thought, fired it point-blank into the zombie's head. They flopped the rest of the way down to the floor, grip on Lance's torn sleeve going slack.

He frantically checked the sleeve the second he got to Allura's side, letting her deal with the few remaining infected. His blood flowed like liquid fire in his veins, spreading nervous energy throughout his being. He didn't feel anything break his skin, but something still could have. Shock could be one hell of a painkiller. Once, his older brother Aaron got stabbed and didn't realize it until his wife screamed and called the police. So he sure as hell wasn't gonna take any chances.

The tear was around his elbow, only about an inch or so long. Not much, but it could still be enough. His fingers shook slightly as they opened the hole a little bit to check the skin underneath his arm. His heart was practically skipping hurdles by now. He checked every inch of skin that could've possibly been exposed, expecting to find something at the last minute.

Only to let out a sigh of relief when there wasn't any. The tenseness in his body loosened a bit before he remembered where he was.

The elevator doors finally creaked open, the three rushing into it immediately. They didn't have time to waste. The rectangular array of 30 buttons had rust and grime on the edges, but the buttons shone like they were brand new. Polished, even. Like those were the only things worth keeping up in the entire breaking-down building- the frickin' elevator buttons.

Lance was the closest to them, so he was the one to press the button helpfully labeled 'LOBBY' in tiny bolded letters. It took the old elevator doors a moment to rumble to a close. That moment felt like hours, the three tense with hands on their weapons. If an unwanted visitor tried barging in, they'd be ready.

He could see a few struggling to get up through the opening that was slowly shrinking. A few did, but none were fast enough to make it in time before the thick metal doors reunited with each other. Weak pounding sounded from outside quickly. They were trying to get in. But one or two zombies weren't gonna be able to break through, so the three visibly deflated against the closest walls with a sigh. 

The elevator rumbled to life, moving ever-so-slowly to their destination.

"Well," Lance was the first to speak up, clicking the safety back on his pistol. He tucked it back into his jacket's pocket. "That was... really fucking risky."

Allura nodded. "True," she confessed, pulling the black hairtie out of her small bun. Her long and wavy hair easily reached past her shoulders, ending at about her elbow. She worked on redoing her do before speaking up again, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. "Still better than the stairs, though."

He had to admit, she had a point.

He let out a shaky breath, shaking off the nervous adrenaline. Shiro must've caught on that something had been wrong. He looked to Lance with a bit of concern. He tried to avoid the older man's eyes, focusing instead on the pale yellow wallpaper of the elevator with peeled-off edges. Maybe if he didn't make eye contact with Shiro, he wouldn't say anything about it.

"Lance," he said. "Are you okay? You looked kinda freaked out back there."

Lance merely nodded, bringing his arms up to cross in front of him. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of the tear. "Yeah," he finally spoke. "Just... got a little too close back there." He looked to see concern on both of his companions' faces. "But don't worry, guys," like that was going to ease their nerves. "I'm fine. Just a little false alarm, is all." He tried his best to smile convincingly.

The two looked at each other again and apparently did their mental-conversation thing. Probably debating if they believed him, or at least whether or not to call him out on his bullshit. He hoped they wouldn't. But he wouldn't really blame them if they did- he didn't really believe himself when he said he was fine, either. (But that was mainly 'cause of the pile of shit this week had quickly become, not a rip in his sleeve.)

"Okay," Allura finally said.

Shiro followed it up with, "Just... making sure."

They didn't really look like they believed him, but he was glad they decided to drop it. Helped ease the thick invisible cord of tension tied around each of them. It was still tight, but the grip loosened slightly.

Part of the tension was a question he only could only guess hung at the forefront of all their minds. It certainly kept around his thoughts, poking and prodding at them to make sure it wasn't forgotten. Though he sure as hell wished he could forget it; wished he could just erase it from memory.

Unfortunately, he couldn't. And it was a pretty valid concern, after a day like today. So he decided to say it.

Or, at least, he swore he was going to. He probably would have if the elevator didn't finally stop at their destination. The doors creaked open loudly, reverberating against the empty lobby. They didn't waste any time heading out of the building, fueled by their goal to get to the evac station before nightfall. The halfway-setting sun cast a golden glow against the lines of tents- a sight they didn't waste time on either.

This time, Lance knew not to look in the tents.

When they got to the fence, Allura didn't hesitate. Just tucked her axe into her bag, closed it, and started climbing up.

When he looked over to Shiro, he saw the other already ready to help, bent down a little with hands clasped together. He smiled, expression understanding. So Lance and Shiro got out the same way they got in- with Shiro helping him up about half the fence and waiting until he was safe on the other side. Only then did he start climbing up himself.

And just like the first time, it took Shiro about half the time it took Lance. Once again, not like he noticed or anything. That would just be stupid.

When the others started moving, it took a moment to realize Lance wasn't following. His eyes were glued to the signs on the fences, specifically the one with 'evacuation' and a white arrow pointed up.

Guess that's not true anymore, he couldn't help but think with a tinge of bitterness.

The others probably looked at him with confusion as he got up to the sign- he didn't know, cause he didn't check- and grabbed hold of it with one hand. He shook it a little experimentally, checking how weak it was. Checking to see if it was weak enough for him to just tear off the fence. It moved pretty leniently, like the person who put it on either didn't really have time to secure it or just didn't really care enough to. Guess it didn't matter which.

So Lance held it by two of the corners with both hands and promptly ripped the sign off the thin chain links. He didn't hold it for long, barely held it at all, just let it fall out of his hands to the concrete with a clang.

It made him feel slightly better.

He turned on his heel to catch up with the two in front of him. Thankfully they'd noticed he wasn't walking with them and stopped a few feet ahead. Allura only raised a brow, but didn't say anything. Shiro just gave him that soft, encouraging smile.

So he walked away from his first hope for safety to head toward his second. His lips turned up in a smile more hopeful than he honestly felt. With every step he took, towards and then alongside his companions in the empty streets towards the mall, the same question burned in his mind. It was like a wildfire, uncontainable and mercilessly singeing anything that came close.

He tried to keep his mouth shut, keep it contained. But anyone who ever knew Lance knew one simple fact.

It was hard to keep his mouth shut for long. 

So, as they walked in silence, he decided to let the question free. To speak what all of them were most likely thinking. The question that they all wanted the answer to, but were too afraid to ask.

"How do we even know if this place'll be safe?"

"Hm?" Allura blinked back into focus. "Sorry, spaced out for a moment there. What was that?"

"And," Shiro added on, raising a brow at him. "What do you mean?"

Lance shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "It's just... Altean Luxuries didn't really work out, so what really makes us sure that the Garrison will be any different? Or, hell, with the kinda day it's been- what if it's worse? What do we do then?" And there was the nervous rambling. Right on time. "Will we just... wander aimlessly to every place on Allura's map? Will we-"

"Lance," Shiro finally cut him off. His eyes were downcast to the bumpy old asphalt. "You remember my promise, right?" Lance simply nodded. Shiro looked to him, his eyes steely and determined. "I meant it. Even if we have to drive there ourselves, you're gonna get to safety." With how strong and sure he sounded, it was hard not to believe him.

Lance smiled- a real, genuine one this time. "Thanks, man." he said.

"No problem."

So after that the three kept walking along, keeping up another silence. This silence, however, felt... different. While the first one pressed on their shoulders and seemed to weigh the same as an eighteen-wheeler, this silence was much lighter on them. If the first was an eighteen-wheeler, this one was a feather. Barely noticeable and comfortably settling.

In the silence, he allowed himself to do something he hadn't been able to do all day. He let his mind wander, like an idiot. Everything always led back to one point. That point always left him with a lump in his throat and a sinking feeling in his stomach. So he'd try and distract himself from that train of thought, and end up right back where he started.

That point was (pretty obviously) Keith.

Looking at the buildings they passed reminded him of the time the four of them had a week-long road trip three years ago. They'd been on the road for four hours already, Pidge in the driver's seat and Lance riding shotgun, when an oldie-goodie song came on over the radio.

More specifically, the starting synthesized beat of Opposites Attract by Paula Abdul.

His mood immediately skyrocketed when that fact hit him. He looked excitedly to Pidge, who let out a tired sigh. By some kind of black magic he would not have been surprised to find out they actually had, they seemed to already know what he was gonna ask.

"Don't even think about it, Lance," they said, like a buzzkill.

"Come on!" He said in a not-at-all-whiny tone. "I'll even let you be Kat!"

"As much of an honor that is to you, my answer's still no."

"Is this about that time at the karaoke bar?" He asked. That had certainly been a wild night. He didn't remember all of it, but he sure as hell remembered tiny smashed-as-hell Pidge hellbent on trying to fight the manager, a 6-foot-10 man who could probably snap Lance like a twig, over that very song.

Pidge's grip had tightened on the old station wagon's steering wheel, their jaw set. "No," they said, like a liar. "I just don't want to, okay?"

Lance had been close to deflating into his seat, when he heard something from the backseat that made him stop. Something that he still swears made his heart skip a beat.

_"I like it quiet,"_ came Keith's voice, along with Paula's lyric.

He'd whirled around to look at Keith in the backseat, a giant smile on his face. _"And I love to shout!"_ He sang along. 

They both came in at their next part- _"But when we get together, it just all works out!"_ He didn't see it, but he's at least 90% sure Pidge rolled their eyes. He'd grown a sense for it.

Keith had laughed a bit, a bit of music of its own. Like his favorite song, he could listen to Keith's rare laughter on a loop for... probably 'till the end of time.

That thought made his heart sink. Everything he grew to love about Keith, little quirks and tidbits of private information he'd learned about him over the years, were useless now. The birthmark on his left hip that looked kinda like a weirdly-shaped rooster, the way he snorted if you managed to make him laugh that much, his 3 binders filled up with information about paranormal activity and conspiracies borne of sleep deprivation and coffee patches- all of those endearing little bits of strangeness he fell head over heels for, gone in a single second.

Or, to be more accurate, about 20.

Everything he saw reminded him of Keith somehow. The sunset made him think about the times he spent half an hour or more on the fire escape of his old apartment, swapping stories with Keith as the sky slowly darkened. The sign of Keith's favorite restaurant, the Lion's Den, almost brought tears to his eyes before he remembered that he wasn't alone.

He was thrown into Hell, with two people he barely knew. Sure, Allura and Shiro seemed like nice people (moreso Shiro, who didn't try to chop him with an axe when they first met) but they weren't the two he wanted with him right now.

Pidge and Hunk would understand. They'd help him feel better somehow. They always did, even when it seemed impossible. And he knows if they were alive, if they were there with him, he could make it through this.

But they weren't. He had no idea where they were, or even if they were alive. And if they were, were they thinking about him at all? Or did they just... forget about him, let him slip through their memories? 

It was a long stretch, he knew that. It was absolutely ridiculous. They were The Garrison Trio, back when they all worked at the mall in college. They were as close as they could possibly be. There was no way they'd just forget about his existence after four days.

And yet, the thought still stung.

"Lance?" The British-accented voice and a hand gently shaking his shoulder snapped him back to reality. "We're here."

He looked to find that they indeed were. The wide, dull chrome of the strangely-built building was familiar. It wasn't a very tall building, but it was certainly designed to look interesting. The flat roof about 30 feet above them, but about 50 below two much higher rectangular towers that looked like giant planks of painted wood with a giant circle near the tip, made the place look more like some kind of flight school rather than a mall. But whatever. He wasn't an architect.

_(Keith was.)_

He quickly pushed the thought away. He needed to focus if he wanted to possibly get to safety.

The mall had some similarities to Altean Luxuries. The same kind of tents lined up to the side entrance of the mall. If he had to guess, they probably held the same contents too. Other than them, there wasn't a single alive person in sight.

At first he wondered why there wasn't a fence. He wondered why the area wasn't fenced off, like the hotel had been. Also unlike the hotel, there was only one sign right by the red metal side door. It was blue with white lettering, and simply said 'evacuation center'.

"I don't like this," he heard Shiro say.

"'I don't like this'?" Lance gave him a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Careful, Shiro. That's almost as bad as 'What could possibly go wrong?'." 

Thankfully, it got Shiro to calm down slightly. "True," he said. He looked to Allura questioningly. "You wanna do this? It'll probably be risky."

Allura stayed silent a moment, examining the scene before them with narrowed eyes. She seemed to mull the question over before finally answering. "Yes," she said, looking to the two on her right side. "I think it's worth a try."

"Okay," he looked to Lance. "What about you, Lance? You wanna do this?"

It didn't take him nearly as long as Allura. "Yeah," he said. "We walked all this way, didn't we?"

Shiro nodded. "Okay," he looked to the building and adjusted the strap on his backpack. "Guess we-" Before he could finish whatever he was going to say, a sound rang out. It cut through the air from inside the building, making the three tense up in surprise.

A gunshot.

Glass half full- considering zombies most likely couldn't hold (let alone use) a gun, someone was definitely alive in the mall right now.

Glass half empty- considering how loud the shot was, they might not be for long.

"Okay," he said, licking his dry lips. "If the DCA isn't in there," they probably wouldn't be. It wouldn't even be a surprise at this point. "I've got an idea."

"What is it?" Allura asked, getting her axe out of her bag.

"It's... kind of illegal," he started. Shiro raised a brow. "Okay, not 'kind of'. It's definitely illegal. Still wanna hear it?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Shiro said. "So it's okay. Just tell us."

"So, you know how most malls have cars on display as, like, raffle prizes, right?" He started to explain as they quickly headed for the door. They nodded. "Well, the Garrison always has a lot of 'em, and the keys are always in the cars." Allura moved ahead to open the door for them. "Only problem is they don't put any gas in the tank." His voice shrinked down to a whisper as he stepped inside the building. "So we just gotta find some gas and fill up one of the cars."

Allura stepped in last, slowly closing the door behind them. "Where would we find gas canisters, though?" She asked him quietly.

Another shot rang out, echoing along the empty walkway. The food court was to their left, littered with knocked over tables and chairs. Some still had trays and wrappers, even unfinished food, joining in on the mess. All the fast food restaurant vendors lining the curved walls were unsurprisingly closed down. Only the McDonald's sign still had power, the weak red and yellow glow barely noticeable.

Ahead of the walkway lined with barricaded shops that led to the main area, figures ran past. Probably heading for the source of the noise now firing shot after shot from what sounded like a different kind of gun. A quieter one, but still loud enough.

"I think our friend might know the answer to that," he heard Shiro whisper beside him. "We should see if we can help them."

They quickened their paces slightly. It was all for the sake of being careful, not attracting unwanted attention, but he didn't see the point. Even if some of the infected knew they were there, Itchy Trigger Finger would only fire again and re-grab their attention.

Thankfully, they were still alive when the three reached the main area. The three of them were on the second floor, overlooking the dead bodies and knocked-over tents on the main floor. There were three car displays visible on the main floor, two of which empty. The only one left was a dark blue pickup truck, a pile of red gas canisters piled up in the back.

At each of the walls, there was a thin flat plank of wood nailed to them. They were all spray painted and saying roughly the same thing in rushed highlighter-yellow writing- 'Free gas' and 'Take what you need' above an arrow pointing down to an empty spot.

Up on the third floor, he saw a flash of green running down to the other wall. He only saw Itchy Trigger Finger for a moment, but he'd know that old green hoodie and light brown hair anywhere.

Pidge.

He was so wrapped up in his confused and relieved thoughts, he barely noticed a figure had noticed him. They perched on the third floor's railing, looking straight at him. They looked like a cat ready to pounce. He knew he should've ran, tried to move out of the way, but it felt like he was rooted into the old white tile.

"Lance," Allura warned, looking up at the railing behind him. "Watch out!"

At the moment of her warning, two things happened so quickly it took him a second to process it. First, the zombie leaped off the railing towards him.

Second, he was knocked down onto his stomach, the force knocking the air out of his lungs. The weight on his back only stayed on for a second before he could hear the zombie on him snarl and move off towards the other one.

He groaned, one hand rubbing at the dull pain in his jaw. What just happened? Both Allura and Shiro were looking to the spot behind him, so he moved his body to sit up and see what they were staring at.

His heart felt like it stopped.

The zombie that apparently saved him was now circling the other one, lips caked with hints of dry blood pulled back into a snarl, baring his sharpened teeth. Through the long black bangs, he could see red around glassy grey irises with a tinge of purple at the edges. Dried, almost black, blood ran down slightly from both eyes like tears that didn't quite make it to his chin. The sleeves of that familiar red crop jacket were now torn off further up, the longest of the jagged edges now barely touching his elbow.

"Keith," he couldn't help but breathe out the name, like saying it was the only way to actually make this real.

And Keith actually stopped for a second, looking in his direction. He still remembered him.

The other zombie took the chance to pounce while he was distracted, knocking Keith down to the floor with a growl. Keith immediately snapped his attention back to the zombie now trying to tear into him with claws they both had. It was like watching two alley cats fighting, with the sounds more or less to match. Keith was mainly trying to keep the other's claws away from him, struggling to wriggle free. But the one on top of him refused to let him budge.

Quickly, Lance took his pistol out of his jacket pocket and clicked the safety off. He lined up the shot and fired.

The bullet hit its mark- the zombie's head. They slumped down onto Keith, who quickly kicked them off and got to his feet.

Lance just stayed where he was sitting in shock, eyes glued to Keith. How was he...? How did he...? Why did he...? Millions of confused questions raced through his mind, overlapping each other and jumbling so much it was hard to get one that was actually complete.

A wolf whistle from the top floor snapped him out of it. Pidge was looking down at them, carrying two gas canisters in their hands. "Get to the car!" They yelled, knocking a zombie over the railing. "These are the last ones!"

Keith jumped to the railing of the stairs nearby, climbing over and climbing up to help. Lance felt two strong pairs of hands pull him up to his feet. He looked back to them.

"You heard them," Shiro said, gently pushing him forward towards the stairs. "We gotta go."

Oh. Right. They were trying to get to safety. His mind had been too busy racing with thoughts of _KeithisOkayKeithisHereKeithremembersme_ to remember why they were there in the first place. He nodded, and his legs finally complied with his wishes and started moving. 

Allura, being the only person with a melee weapon, went first down the stairs. She seemed fine with that, hacking at and pushing away any zombies in her path. Lance went next, and Shiro went last.

"I'm driving!" Lance called up to Pidge as the three ran to the truck. He moved around to the driver's seat, stepping over the body of some poor bastard who probably had the same idea as he did. Thankfully, the driver's side window was already broken, so all he had to do was reach in and press the unlock button.

"I call shotgun!" Pidge called quickly from the second floor, dodging zombies and moving quicker than he'd ever seen them move before.

Lance opened his door and swept the broken glass off his seat. The keys were already in the ignition, so all he had to do was get in and wait.

Which he did, after he shut his door.

Shiro went into the backseat first, Allura noticeably waiting until Pidge was on the main floor before following suit. She closed the door just before another zombie got to it.

Pidge ran into sight a split second later, racing to the back of the truck. They practically threw the gas canisters in along with the rest. Then they moved to the passenger's side, opening the door and stepping in as fast as humanly possible. Lance turned the car on when they shut the door, waiting for their final passenger.

The red of his jacket coming into view of his mirror and the sound of something landing on the metal bed of the back told him that the final passenger had boarded. And apparently remembered to flip up and lock in the back of the truck.

"Hang on," he said a split second before slamming on the gas. The tires moved against the metal of the platform before finally climbing over the small ridge keeping the truck on. Practically everything in the truck moved up as it raced off the platform and onto the actual floor.

And when the truck barreled through the glass of the main doors out onto the zombie-infested parking lot, he just kept going.

It was a bumpy ride out to the street, but when he looked and saw Keith still in the back after each one, he felt more alive than he had in the past three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on tumblr: squishy--squish  
> comments are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!
> 
> my tumblr: squishy--squish


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